


By Your Sword

by jaskiersvalley (connorssock)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Jaskier, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, accidental injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/jaskiersvalley
Summary: When Geralt and Eskel went to hunt forktails around Kaer Morhen, they didn't anticipate being interrupted by a bard. It was never a good idea to surprise a witcher, espcially not when he had his sword out. Jaskier learned the hard way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 21
Kudos: 399





	1. Chapter 1

The forktails around Kaer Morhen were getting rather annoying, swooping and terrorising a path, creeping ever closer to the old keep. So Eskel and Geralt had gone out to deal with them. They made it into a bit of a competition, who could take down more and they were jeering each other on, shit talking and being the general brutes they could never be in the world at large.

There was a lull, the forktails had scattered to recuperate from their losses or maybe even flee. Five of them were on the ground and Geralt had just pulled his sword from the last body when there was a rustle behind him in the bushes. Someone was approaching and talking which was wrong. Nobody ever got so close to the keep, not since the battle. The reaction had been instilled in Geralt to protect the keep at all costs, to deter those who would near it and through some fluke managed to survive the path to it. Without thinking, he twirled, sword thrusting forward, feeling flesh and bone give way under its silver tip before he even listened to the words.

Wide blue eyes stared at him, a moment of stunned disbelief before pain clouded them over and Geralt parsed the words. “I thought I heard the familiar grunts of battle and detected the waft of onion.” Pulling his sword out had the same effect as cutting the strings of a puppet and Jaskier crumpled to the ground, hands weakly fluttering as blood pooled around him.

“Fuck.” Geralt threw his sword to the side and was kneeling by Jaskier. “Eskel!” He roared, mind blank from panic for the first time in all his years.

Another pair of hands were on Jaskier, pressing down and cursing. It was the problem of being a trained killer, Geralt was too accurate and efficient. He could only watch as Jaskier’s bloody hands grasping at Eskel’s wrists, leaving smears behind. From where he knelt, Geralt could see the way Jaskier was shuddering, breath hard fought for as blood trickled from his lips, staining his chin and cheeks in rivulets. Even worse was the way his mouth moved around silent words, eyes occasionally catching on Geralt before another wave of pain ripped through him. Despite it all, Geralt could read the word on his lips, the simplest question of “why?” that hurt worse than if he had actually heard it.

“Geralt! Snap out of it. Get my satchel.” Eskel snarled and it broke Geralt out of his stupor. “There’s a White Raffard’s in there, use it.”

“The toxicity-” Geralt tried to argue but he was cut off by a “he’s dead if we don’t” which had him uncorking to potion and pouring it over Jaskier’s wound, knowing it was going to be agony. Sure enough, his efforts were rewarded with a bubbling shriek and Jaskier’s back bowing off the ground. If Eskel hadn’t been keeping a slippery hold of him, there was no telling whether Jaskier could have broken or dislocated something with his writhing.

Half the potion was in his wound but the other half had to be swallowed. Already Jaskier was pale and sweaty, tears streaked his face and he panted through the pain and confusion. It didn’t take much effort to tip the potion into his mouth, causing him to choke and splutter but the potion was swallowed.

“Now we run,” Eskel growled. He hefted Jaskier over his shoulder and took off, all too aware that he was probably going to be putting down a corpse in the infirmary rather than someone struggling to stay alive. Behind him, Geralt was keeping pace, and Eskel was yelling for Vesemir as soon as they were within range, ignoring how blood had soaked into his shirt and was seeping down his back.

Against all odds, Jaskier was still wheezing when they got to the infirmary, Lambert trailing in with curiosity. He was immediately sent to sort Geralt out while the other two worked on Jaskier.

“What the hell happened?” Lambert groused as he shoved Geralt into a chair. “You were meant to hunt forktails, not bards.”

“I stabbed him. Fuck, Lambert, I stabbed him.” For the first time in a long while, Geralt sounded lost and uncertain. “I didn’t realise it was him! And I ran him through with my silver sword, thinking him to be some mocking monster.”

There was no comfort Lambert could offer, he wasn’t the kind to do that and even if he was, this wasn’t a situation that could be made better by false platitudes. They could hear the other two murmuring to each other and the weak, rattling breaths as Jaskier was forced to keep living.

It took a couple of hours. Lambert had managed to clean Geralt up and wrestle him gruffly out of his armour. They sat outside the infirmary and waited. In the end, the door opened and Vesemir stepped out, casting Geralt a disappointed look.

“He’s sleeping. But the worst is over.”

Grateful, Geralt nodded and hurried in. There was so much blood still around that Eskel was cleaning up. But on a cot to the side, Jaskier was bandaged and breathing. He’d obviously been carefully cleaned up, face and hands free of blood and tears. There was still the lingering stench of agony and terror but it was at least a little faded.

“Jask.” Geralt took a limp hand in his and bowed his head, eyes squeezed shut.

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” A croaking wisp of a familiar voice had Geralt’s eyes flying open and he gasped.

“I’m so sorry. You weren’t meant to be there. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

A weak laugh led to a cough and a teary “ow” that had Eskel hovering and glaring at Geralt.

“Who would have thought the great White Wolf could apologise,” Jaskier whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt repeated again, knowing that words were never enough.

“My onion,” Jaskier squeezed the hand holding his. “Peel back the layers and you find the tears.”

Sure enough, Geralt touched his own cheeks and found tears there. A soft tug at his hand had his attention back on Jaskier who was whispering again, “Come rest with me. Please.”

It was the least Geralt could do, he settled gingerly on the bed, grateful Lambert had bullied him into something more comfortable and much cleaner than his armour. They would have a lot to talk about, and a lot more apologies were to come. But, for now, Geralt was okay with being a pillow and a bed warmer for Jaskier.

“I know you’ll keep me safe,” Jaskier mumbled, eyes closed and forehead pressed against Geralt’s chest. It was a trust Geralt felt he didn’t deserve but would work so hard to be eventually worthy of once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Time is the greatest healer of them all, even if it is a little slow. In a couple of days, Jaskier was sitting up, admittedly with pillows behind him to help keep him upright but he was no longer just lying down. As much as he could, Geralt stayed with Jaskier out of a sense of guilt. His recovery was his burden to bear even if the others tried to bully him away.

“At least go and rinse yourself down. You reek worse than a filthy pig.” Lambert never did mince his words. As soon as Geralt had been not quite unkindly shoved out of the room, he was returning to Jaskier’s bed and sitting on the chair next to it with an expectant look. “What the fuck were you doing so close to the keep?”

It was a funny story really. Or not, if Jaskier thought about it too hard. He’d been pelted with non-bakery goods in a village for being recognised as the bard who travelled with the witcher. And it had been a while since he’d seen Geralt, plus winter was on its way. So Jaskier had figured he’d learn more about Geralt’s heritage and explore the great ruins of Kaer Morhen before surprising the witcher by seeking sanctuary for the winter at the keep.

“And my plan did involve being impaled on his sword!” He bemoaned. “But not on his steel one.”

“It was the silver one,” Eskel said as he walked in, Geralt behind him, looking damp and grumpy.

It had Jaskier throwing up his hands in a huff. “Silver, steel, whatever. It was still the wrong sword.” He spotted Geralt after his little outburst and smiled sweetly. “I do not take that back.”

Lambert barked out a laugh and gruffly patted Jaskier on the shoulder. “You can stay around. After all the effort that went into saving you, it would be a shame to have to kill you because you broke Geralt’s non-existent heart.”

In another couple of days, Jaskier could sit in a chair by the window and watch. He had perfect view of the training grounds where Lambert seemed to like spending most of his time. Sometimes one of the others joined him but none were more entertaining than the fights with Geralt. Mostly because Lambert never stuck to the rules. A sword fight? He’d throw his sword and rush at Geralt. Fist fight? Lamebrt lay down on the ground and swatted at Geralt’s feet. No matter what though, the end result was always Geralt, in some way bending over or falling with his ass perfectly presented to Jaskier and Lambert pointing at it and giving Jaskier a thumbs up. In a way, it was reassuring that Jaskier had the approval of at least one witcher.

It wasn’t just one witcher though. It was all of them. They just happened to be a little more subtle about it. Vesemir preferred to keep Jaskier company and indulged him in tales of young witcher shenanigans. Especially ones centring around Geralt and his…less graceful moments to put it politely. Though mixed in there were stories of Geralt caring, of being hurt and rejected over and over again. A warning and an explanation in one.

“I understand,” Jaskier said after one such story.

In turn, Vesemir levelled him with a look. “Do you though?”

Which had Jaskier pondering things for the rest of the day until Geralt appeared with dinner. By then, Jaskier was almost well enough to shuffle to a small table that had been set up at the side of the room. And the more he watched, the more Jaskier was sure that he understood.

While Jaskier had bathed, wound closed up enough to allow for a short soak, someone had been in what had become his temporary room. The table was set, there was a cloth over it, two candles and even a vase with a single buttercup in it. Pretty and understated, and incredibly romantic. Freshly cleaned, Jaskier smiled at the thought and wondered whose idea it could have been. Not Lambert’s, the man would sooner tie Geralt up and leave him in Jaskier’s bed naked. Vesemir didn’t strike him as the romantic kind. And, as far as Jaskier knew, Geralt was still feeling too guilty about their little mishap. Which left Eskel as the thoughtful candidate to try and encourage the romance that was very much not building between Geralt and Jaskier.

Dinner came and Geralt stepped through the door, carrying quite the tray. He looked to the table but didn’t seem to even hesitate as he put down all of Jaskier’s favourites. Puzzled, Jaskier approached, wondering whether Geralt was ignoring the table’s decorations or if he was just that obtuse.

“Would you do me the honour of having dinner with me?” Geralt asked softly, holding a hand out to Jaskier. Which was all sorts of confusing.

“Was this your doing?” Perhaps it came out as a little too harsh because Geralt looked wide eyed, hand dropping as he took it to be a rejection.

“Were you hoping it was someone else?”

As much as he could, Jaskier flung himself at Geralt, relieved and feeling foolish for thinking it could have been Eskel’s way of trying to get him and Geralt together.

“I want to have dinner with you, tonight and every night,” he reassured. Feeling a little brave in Geralt’s arms, he pressed a kiss to slack, surprised lips with a giggle. Message delivered, Jaskier shuffled to the table and sat down, eyes wide.

“Eskel helped cook. I told him what you like.” Geralt admitted quietly and settled down opposite Jaskier.

Reaching over the table, Jaskier linked their hands. “It is perfect, thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on tumblr with many more stories - @jaskiersvalley


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